The Talk
by InquisitorLynx
Summary: Lavellan views Solas as a sort of father figure. Dorian finds out that Solas gives a rather terrifying shovel talk.


Solas thumbed through the reports on the table in his study, pursing his lips as he considered a page for a moment before placing it back down in favor of a tattered old tome. The reports he had received from the Inquisitor about his physical visit to the Fade were absolutely fascinating, leaving him with a fair amount of new information to which he could now compare his research. Despite the horrors that had been there, he wished he could have gone as well, if only for the experience. For now, he would have to settle on entering the Fade only through dreams.

It was a testament to the Inquisitor's own mental strength that he had even been able to write the report. The poor man had been shaking when he came down from the adrenaline rush at camp after the siege on Adamant, and his normally shy yet friendly countenance had been carefully kept neutral over the past few weeks. Now that they were all safely back at Skyhold, Mahanon was starting to return to his old self, if a bit changed from the whole ordeal. The report itself was shaky and unclear—a number of sections had been crossed out and rewritten multiple times, and sometimes the wording made little sense—but few people could be expected to think clearly while recounting the exact details of what had to be severe trauma. A nightmare tailored to Lavellan's own fears? Solas shuddered to think about it.

"Hahren?"

The voice pulled him from his thoughts. Solas turned to see Mahanon walking over to him, wearing his typical semiformal outfit and a smile that he knew was all too fragile. "Lethallin," he greeted as the other man stopped beside him. "I was just working through your report on Adamant. I haven't yet had adequate time to come up with any new information of particular use to the Inquisition, but I will be sure to inform you as soon as that changes."

Mahanon nodded, shifting his weight anxiously with an almost imperceptible flicker of his eyes to the library the floor above them. Interesting. "Good, that's… good to know. Actually, I came here for something else."

They stood in awkward silence for half a minute before Solas prodded him for more information. "Interested in learning new spells? Or a dance for the ball at Halamshiral? I'm afraid I haven't got much time for either of those, if that's what you're after. Or is it something else?"

The younger elf took a deep breath to prepare himself. "How does one court a human?" he asked quietly enough that nobody from the busier upper level would hear, looking past Solas' shoulder at the wall behind him.

Solas' eyebrows shot up. Of all the things to ask about… "You're asking me about humans?"

He groaned. "Yes, I'm asking you. I'm not going to risk anything by asking Leliana or Josephine, I don't trust Varric to do this without betting on something, and Blackwall is probably not the best person to ask."

"What about Dorian?"

"I can't very well ask him," Mahanon said, scowling at the suggestion. "That sort of ruins the whole thing, doesn't it?"

Aha. So the young man was indeed enamored of the other mage. "So you've come to me instead."

"You don't need to sound so amused about it."

Solas let out a chuckle this time. "I would hardly consider myself an expert on human courting rituals. If you haven't noticed, I am hardly popular here and obviously have little practical experience in that field."

"Surely you've observed some from your journeys into the Fade?"

"I suppose I have, haven't I?" He tilted his head, thoughtful. "Why not court him with Dalish methods? Wouldn't that be more to your preference?" As much as Solas disdained the Dalish, he had some semblance of respect for Mahanon sticking to his traditions, and had rather expected him to stick to them.

A mild blush began to spread on Mahanon's face and his expression turned to one of frustration. "I tried, honestly. I've given him gifts, but he doesn't understand what any of them mean and I can't bring myself to explain them to him outright. I don't even think he's being purposely oblivious. He just doesn't get it. I can't even find any books about this, past Varric's, which I don't trust to be helpful to begin with. I mean, he knows I like him, we've been… affectionate, but I don't know what humans do in relationships."

"Very well," Solas sighed. "When I find the time later, I will write you a quick list of things you can do, past simply talking to him as you should do. Gifts and dates and whatnot."

"Ma serannas, hahren," he beamed, then hesitated.

"Please do tell me you're not about to ask me how sex works."

Mahanon's face turned beet red. "No! Creators, no! I am quite knowledgeable, and—" He stopped talking and buried his face in his hands to hide his mortified expression, mumbling a few curses as he did so. After a minute, he looked back at Solas' amused face. "I just… I respect you a lot, hahren."

It was an obvious enough fact, given the younger mage's deferral to him on numerous topics regarding history and magic, but it seemed to have little import on their current conversation. "Go on."

"I don't have much contact with my clan at the moment, and there are few other elves here, and…" He shrugged. "I respect you as a hahren, and wanted your opinion. Your approval, perhaps. On courting him. Dorian. If you don't mind."

That had not been expected. For once, Solas was left almost speechless.

He turned about the thought in his mind. Mahanon saw him as an older, respectable figure. Not an authority figure, nor as a fatherly figure, but as someone who was in a position of guidance and whose words would be heeded, or at least considered. It made sense, of course—they were two of the only elves in the Inquisition, and both mages at that—but the humility that Mahanon was showing him was unexpected. That he was showing it to someone who was not Dalish was even more of a surprise.

The corner of his mouth twitched and he glanced up towards the section of the library where Dorian tended to linger. "Yes," he murmured, looking back at Mahanon. "I approve, lethallin, and wish you luck."

"Ma serannas," he said with relief, a wide grin plastered on his face.

* * *

Later that evening, Solas wandered back to his area after having been convinced by Varric to have a full dinner out in public. What he hadn't been informed of was that the Chargers would all be in attendance, which had soured his mood rather quickly, and now he needed some time to himself and his studies. Perhaps he would wander the Fade early tonight.

He spent about half an hour rereading Lavellan's report on the Fade. It might be wise to get Cassandra's version of the incident, considering how she fell through as well, but he was not particularly keen on dragging that out of her, and she was not a mage regardless—for all his efforts, he could end up with nothing but frustration and lost time. As for Dorian, the man hadn't been very open about it, saying that whatever Mahanon had written was likely about the same as his own experiences.

Solas paused, listening to the faint rustle of pages from the direction of Dorian's favorite alcove. He mulled over a thought for a second or two before making his decision, climbing casually up the stairs to the second level.

He leaned on the bookshelf opposite Dorian's seat, earning the Tevinter's immediate attention.

"It is not often that I am graced by your presence. To what do I owe this prestigious honor? I haven't accidentally done something terribly offensive, have I?" Dorian asked, placing his open book on his lap and reclining in his chair.

"You? Concerned about offending people? Color me surprised," Solas responded. He took a moment to look at Dorian, actually taking in details for once instead of ignoring them. A new amulet of Tevinter make—hadn't Mahanon mentioned something about a birthright a little over a month ago? A new bracelet, with delicately carved beads of cheap yet soft metals—definitely a gift from the Dalish, and personally handmade too, considering the faults he could see from this distance. The man wasn't a craftsman, after all. And…

An ironbark earring.

He would definitely need to have words with Mahanon about that one.

"Well, if all you're going to do is stand and stare at me, might I request that you do it a little less obviously? Some people might get jealous," Dorian teased.

"Dorian," the elf said, lending his voice a serious tone. "We need to talk. Walk with me."

The human furrowed his eyebrows. "Very well, then." He stood, placing the book precariously on top of a stack of books, presumably so nobody sat on it if left in the chair (not that many people besides Dorian and Mahanon ever sat there). The two started down the steps, passing through the main hall and walking through a few winding corridors.

"What exactly is your relationship with our dear Inquisitor?" Solas asked bluntly.

Dorian almost tripped over his own feet. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you like him? Are you two a couple?"

Dorian stopped in the middle of a corridor, leaning back against one of the walls next to a window that peeked out into the gardens and folding his arms. "We're friends. Good friends. We care for each other as friends do. Nothing more than that."

Solas crossed his own arms, remaining in the middle of the hall. "I ask for his sake, not yours," he said sternly. "And if there is truly nothing going on, then I suggest you tell him that the next time you see him, because you are leading him on."

The other man tensed. "When did our affairs become your business?"

"So you two are together."

"Yes! Fine, yes, we are a couple, happy and mushy and spilling all our secrets to each other. There you go. Now you can go collect whatever bet you've won and stay out of our relationship."

Solas slowly walked towards him. "I'm not here to win any bets, Dorian."

Dorian let out an annoyed sigh. "Then why, pray tell, have you walked me halfway across this castle to pry about my love life?"

The elf stopped in front of him, just far enough away to not be in Dorian's personal space but close enough to appear threatening. "Because I care about Lavellan and I will not see him hurt."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, of course, we all do. But I don't see—"

"I will not let you hurt him, Dorian."

Dorian's frown deepened. "It is decidedly not my intention to ever do so."

Solas moved forward another inch, but Dorian couldn't back up any more. "He has been through more than any of us alone: Not just physically walking through the Fade and traveling through time with you, but facing down Corypheus and surviving an avalanche. Dealing with the anchor on his hand. Dealing with the pressure of being Inquisitor and having the world treat him as a symbol for a religion that has hurt our kind for centuries. All he's known before this was an insular life among the Dalish, as a mage who barely knew any offensive spells. What's more, you are a human, and he is an elf."

Solas narrowed his eyes, voice remaining steady and certain. "He is fragile right now. He could be taken advantage of far too easily by someone like you. Dorian," he continued, "you know what I can do. You know the strength of my spells and how I can interact with the Fade. You know exactly how I can hurt you." He took a short step backwards, giving the other man some space to breathe. "Do not give me an excuse to do so, because I will not be merciful."

Dorian could only nod, eyes wide in shock.

The elf's serious visage was suddenly replaced with his typical faint smile. "Have a good evening, Dorian."

He walked off down the hallway just as Mahanon rounded a corner. The two elves passed each other, Mahanon giving the older one a curious glance before looking at Dorian. "Did something happen between you two?" he asked once he was close to the human.

"Nothing at all, Mahanon. Nothing at all."


End file.
